


Better Than Goats

by tarysande



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 14:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15197180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarysande/pseuds/tarysande
Summary: The creature was small enough to curl into a tiny ball in Lucifer’s large palm. An obnoxiously tiny pink tongue emerged to swipe, like very fine-grade sandpaper, at his skin. Lucifer cupped his other hand over it to create a small cave of warmth.Lucifer did not like cats.





	Better Than Goats

Though not usually troubled overmuch by the passage of time—one hour was much the same as any other when you had eons of them behind and an infinity of them ahead—running Lux had somewhat accustomed Lucifer to schedules. Particularly when glancing around a club about to open, he saw half the usual number of waitstaff and at least two missing bartenders, one of whom he’d had a conversation with not half an hour earlier.

Giving his cuffs a tug of irritation he wouldn’t let show on his face, Lucifer went on the hunt. He suspected an orgy of some kind—wouldn’t be the first time he’d found several of his employees in a tangle of limbs, though they were generally responsible enough to wait until after shift. In all honesty, he wouldn’t have minded so much had he not been expecting the Detective—with Maze and Linda and possibly Ms. Lopez—to make an appearance on this particular evening. It was important for everything to run smoothly.

He wasn’t entirely certain _why_ this was of paramount importance to him; he only knew it was.

He found his missing staff at the loading dock. A few crates of alcohol stood half-forgotten, while a crowd—all clothed, not a one engaging in sexual activity of any kind—stood in a knot. He cleared his throat. Twice.

Patrick saw him first and paled slightly as he glanced at his watch. “Boss,” he said—which was enough to send the gaggle of waitstaff scurrying back toward their posts—“We … have a bit of a situation.”

“Indeed,” Lucifer agreed. “You realize the doors open in fifteen minutes?”

Patrick nodded. “Sorry, Mr. Morningstar. We—well. Got distracted.”

Lucifer sighed. “By what, pray tell?”

Patrick gestured, forcing Lucifer to cross the distance between them. On the ground at his feet lay a cat, snowy fur blood-spattered. With what sounded suspiciously like tears in his voice, Patrick continued, “It must’ve been the truck.”

“A tragedy, I’m sure.”

Patrick shifted his weight from one foot to the other, not quite meeting Lucifer’s unimpressed gaze. “She had kittens. We’ve been—well. The whole staff—we sort of adopted them? We brought the mama cream, you know, no harm no foul? But when I came down today, I found this and … well. The kittens were small. Three weeks? Maybe a month? And they. Didn’t make it. Except one.” Patrick pulled his apron pocket wide, and nestled inside was a miniscule, perfectly white kitten. Lucifer didn’t need his supernatural abilities to know the creature was not long for the world.

“Her name’s Lux. Not—not just because of the club. She was the only white one. And, you know, light.” Color rose in Patrick’s cheeks. “Sorta stupid, I know.”

Lucifer only half-heard the explanation. Something about the trembling, helpless beast who’d somehow inherited a part of his name troubled him. As if hearing his thought, the creature opened eyes still baby-toned blue and loosed a fierce little mewl. A smile twitched at the corners of Lucifer’s mouth; she seemed determined not to go quietly, as it were. “We are already short-staffed behind the bar this evening,” Lucifer said. “The creature needs more attention than you can spare.”

“I … know. I was … I was sort of thinking I should put her out of her misery.”

Lucifer’s throat tightened. “Pardon me?”

Patrick blinked and withdrew three steps before stopping himself. “I don’t want her to suffer.”

Swallowing his ire, Lucifer reached out a hand. “I will deal with it. You’ve a bar that needs tending.”

Lucifer didn’t miss the flash of relief that crossed Patrick’s face as he gently settled the kitten in Lucifer’s hands and took off the way he’d come, as if—well, as if the Devil were on his heels.

The creature was small enough to curl into a tiny ball in Lucifer’s large palm. An obnoxiously tiny pink tongue emerged to swipe, like very fine-grade sandpaper, at his skin. Lucifer cupped his other hand over it to create a small cave of warmth.

Lucifer did not like cats. He had _never_ cared for them. They were aloof, inflicted with a truly ridiculous superiority complex, and perfectly capable of looking someone dead in the eye as they pushed something expensive off a very high shelf just to see it shatter. His Father, on the other hand, couldn’t get enough of them; in one form or another, cats were bloody _everywhere,_ and had been for eons. Worse, Dad had always expected Lucifer to … to _bond_ with them, or some such nonsense.

_“You’ll like these ones, Son.”_

Always so bloody certain. Always so bloody _smug_.

Well. Lucifer hadn’t.

At all.

The kitten began to purr.

Though, if nothing else, he supposed cats were better than bloody goats.

#

Two hours later—truly astounding what could be found and delivered at all hours of the day, given enough money—the creature had lapped at some watered-down kitten gruel, taken a visit to its new state-of-the-art self-cleaning litter box, and was snugly sleeping in Lucifer’s inner jacket pocket after he made certain it wouldn’t suffocate in there. Kittens needed warmth at this young age, he’d read, which he had in plenty. And he certainly wasn’t leaving it alone in his penthouse where any number of things could happen to it. It hadn’t survived the deaths of its mother (how bloody _typical_ that father cats never stuck around) and all its siblings to suffocate under a pillow.

Shame what the lump did to the line of his suit, but some things couldn’t be helped.

And the purr really was quite lovely. Soothing, almost.

By the time he returned to the club, the Detective and her friends were already the kind of pleasantly tipsy that meant looser limbs and brighter smiles; his favorite. Maze, of course, was all but unaffected, but even she seemed … if not entirely relaxed, at least less likely to respond to a question with a knife. He watched them from a distance for a time, knowing his presence would invariably change their current dynamic. Maze acknowledged his arrival with the swiftest of glances before returning to whatever story Ms. Lopez was regaling them with. Linda seemed both transfixed and horrified, so Lucifer imagined it involved one disgusting crime scene or another; the dear girl never did know when to cease talking about wretched, often post-mortem, bodily fluids.

Marilyn put a healthy tumbler of whiskey in Lucifer’s hand before weaving through the crowd to deliver the rest of her drinks. She wasn’t quite her usual chipper self; she’d been one of the ones down at the loading dock. He’d always suspected she had a soft spot under the pouting Hollywood starlet role she played at the club. He made a note to augment the earnings of his staff this evening with hefty tips from an anonymous donor.

After a sip of the liquid—the burn was always so much sweeter when the Detective was in the vicinity—Lucifer checked on his small charge. The creature blinked up at the change of light and gave him, he suspected, a feline look of utter disgust at being so rudely awoken. “Forgive me,” he murmured.

“What for?” asked the Detective. “Not saying hi?”

“Goodness,” Lucifer replied. Not startled. The Devil didn’t do startled. He most certainly did _not_ half jump out of his skin and put a hand up to protect the kitten in his pocket at the same moment. “You do creep in on little cat feet, don’t you?”

She smiled, but her eyes remained shrewd. “It’s not like you to hover on the sidelines for, oh,” she checked her watch, “ten whole minutes.”

“It appeared Ms. Lopez was mid-story.”

The smile widened. “Really? That’s the excuse you’re going with?”

He didn’t deign to answer.

But the Detective, it appeared, had moved on to another topic of interrogation. “Lucifer, why’s your pocket moving?” When he didn’t reply at once, she made a face. “And no, I’m not seeing things. I haven’t had nearly that much to drink.”

Lucifer winced as the kitten employed its very tiny, very sharp claws, evidently in an attempt to escape. Bloody cats. Rather than let it damage the jacket’s silk lining, he carefully extricated it—

And was rewarded by the Detective uttering a sound unlike any he’d heard her make before. This _did_ startle him. He glanced up to make certain she was entirely well and was met by eyes gone wide as the saucers the kitten had earlier supped from. The expression of her mouth was hidden behind the fingers of one hand.

The creature, traitorous, squirmed toward the Detective, mewling determinedly.

“Forgive me,” he said. “It has rather a mind of its own.”

The Detective dropped her hand and reached toward the little creature, pausing before touching it. “You hate cats. I think _detest_ was your exact word. Why the hell do you have one in your _pocket_?”

The kitten’s determination to launch itself from his hand prevented his nonchalant response. He and the Detective reached out to protect the little thing at the same moment, his hands curling around hers to form a cup for the creature to stumble into.

The light in the Detective’s eyes had nothing whatsoever to do with the filters overhead, and it was bright enough to—just for a moment—take his breath away.

“Hey, girl, not to interrupt the hand-holding—also, since when have you guys been _hand-holding_?—but you know Tribe night is— _Holy Mary Mother of God_ you have a _kitten._ ” Over her shoulder, Ms. Lopez shrieked, “They have a _kitten_!”

Though Lucifer was, of course, entirely used to being surrounded by excited groups of women, he found he was not prepared for being surrounded by women whose focus was so completely not on _him._ He bore with the assault of squeaks and squeals with—he felt—a tremendous amount of forbearance. Maze smiled a wolfish smile and rolled her eyes. Before, he noted, touching the top of the tiny head with the softest brush of one fingertip.

“It’s too loud for her down here,” Ella protested, having gathered the creature into her hands. “Upstairs? Do you have food for her? Has she seen a vet? Do you have a litter box? You could use newspaper if you—do you even have newspaper? Is there—”

“Ms. Lopez,” Lucifer interrupted. “I assure you, it’s all—”

“Does she have a name?” asked Linda.

Glad the dim lighting hid the color in his cheeks, Lucifer rescued the kitten from Ms. Lopez and said, “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps this environment’s not ideal. If you’ll just—”

Linda raised one brow and then the other, her smile far too knowing. “What do you say, ladies? Should we move this Tribe night upstairs? Looks like we have a new member.”

“Of course we do,” Ella cooed at the selfish beast busy lapping up all the attention. “Who’s a precious, perfect little girl? Who’s got the sharpest little claws?”

“I do,” Maze said. “But Lux can come second. We’ll train her.”

“ _Lux_?” asked Linda.

Lucifer, however, tilted his head and frowned. “And how do you know what the beast is called, Mazikeen?”

Maze lifted a lazy shoulder. “Since when haven’t I known every damn thing that goes on in this place? Should’ve guessed this one’d be your favorite. Where’s the rest of ‘em?”

“There are _more_?” the Detective asked. “Seriously?”

“There are not,” Lucifer replied, a touch too sharply. All eyes turned to him. He lifted his chin. The creature rasped its tongue across the base of his thumb. “There was an accident.”

Maze swore under her breath, Ella breathed some ridiculous prayer, Linda gave him another of her _looks_ , and the Detective—well. The Detective put a hand on his forearm and said, “Are you okay?”

He blinked down at her, momentarily failing to understand the words placed in the order she’d spoken them. The beast followed the laving with a ferocious nip, and because the Detective stood so near, the needle teeth broke his skin and startled him out of his silence. “Perfectly well,” he said. “Of course.”

#

When the Detective called him to a crime scene several days later, Lucifer found himself unwilling to leave his little beast alone. It—she—knew her way around the penthouse quite well now, but she still shivered and cried if she got lost around one of the many corners. After a short deliberation, he huffed a discontented sigh and changed out of the black suit certain to show every bloody one of Lux’s white hairs.

He caught a few snickers as he slipped under the police tape, but a glare or two shut them up. The Detective glanced up as he approached, but he spoke before her grin could turn to mockery.

“She’s still very young and needs the warmth,” he said as if patiently explaining the timeline of the universe to an amoeba.

“Ahh,” she said, tilting her head and rolling her eyes. “She’s a _she_ now, is she? No more _it_?”

“Hey,” called Ms. Lopez from across the scene, “I’ve got something over—who’s—oh my _God._ ”

“Please don’t draw His attention, Ms. Lopez. He’d enjoy this far too much.”

But she was already on her feet, ponytail bobbing as she approached at a jog. “You are wearing a cat hoodie,” she said, quite unnecessarily. “A cat _hoodie_. There are _ears._ It has a tail. Talk about a complete one-eighty.”

Lux began to squirm in the jumper’s large, kangaroo-style front pocket. A moment later, her head peeked over the top, and she meowed prettily, earning returning murmurs of affection from the women.

Definitely better than the bloody goats, then.

“Dude,” said Daniel, drawing near. “Just when I think you can’t get any weirder.”

#

Lucifer became accustomed to white cat hair on his dark suits. He accepted that, even with the state-of-the-art litter box, occasionally a faint eau de feline was bound to disturb him. He even acknowledged that, regardless of the number of cat toys and hideous accoutrements, he would never be able to stop Lux from leaving pinprick holes in his Italian leather sofa.

Once, and only once, did some well-meaning but imbecilic eavesdropper in the club suggest that Lucifer should have his cat declawed. And though he’d fully intended to reduce the offender to a steaming puddle of piss and terror with words, Maze’s grip around the man’s throat had proven more … persuasive. That, and her hissed, “And how would you like it if I removed _your_ fingers at the first knuckle?”

The knife she’d flashed was a nice touch.

As Lux grew larger and more sure of herself, sometimes he left her alone for an hour or two, though if he thought he’d be out longer, he either brought her with, or arranged for Maze (and Beatrice, more often than not) or his brother to watch her. For now. Whilst she was so little.

“You do know one of the benefits of having a cat over a dog is that they tolerate being alone for longer periods,” Linda said at one session, while Lux batted an ornamental ball around, tearing from one side of the room to the other and leaving destruction in her wake. She was, Lucifer had to admit, an excellent hunter. He approved wholeheartedly. He supposed it was down to the multitude of catnip-filled mice he kept her supplied with.

“Do they?” he asked, rather sharply. “Or do they merely accept their lot without complaining? Perhaps they’re quite misunderstood. Perhaps they’d much rather be with us, and it’s only they don’t know how to say so; instead, they’re abandoned for hours at a time with nary a word why. They haven’t a dog’s insipid tail wagging and drooling and bloody ridiculous displays of affection to make their needs so obvious.”

“Perhaps that’s it,” Linda replied. “In any case, she’s lucky to have you. I hope you know that.”

He bloody hated her knowing looks.

And he ignored the infusion of warmth her approbation left in his chest.

#

He’d have sooner thrown himself back into the pits of Hell than admit how much pleasure it brought him to see Lux waiting when the penthouse elevator opened; or to have her perched on top of the piano, watching his hands move across the keys—she preferred top-40 to the blues, silly creature; or to have her come when he called her name; or to invariably find her curled beneath his chin when he woke, leaving him to breathe mouthfuls of fur.

That the Detective was enamored with her was an added, if unexpected, bonus. And though Lux did not approve of everyone—she was a rather good judge of character, he found—she did exhibit a preference for the Detective’s company. Excellent taste, as well.

“So,” the Detective said, one night after they’d finished putting a vile reprobate away and she’d accepted his invitation for a drink back at his, “I take it _detest_ is off the table?”

“I’d not go that far,” he replied, watching the Detective’s fingers card through Lux’s soft fur and telling himself he certainly wasn’t jealous. “She’s quite different than the rest of her species.”

“Is she?”

He nodded once, decisively, and was rewarded by another of the soft smiles he fancied the Detective saved for him; he’d never seen her smile the same way at anyone else.

“I believe it,” she continued. “Trixie’s in love.”

“Your offspring does seem quite taken by her.”

“Yes,” the Detective said. “She does. She’s wanted a cat since she was old enough to say, ‘Want meow.’”

“Another desire denied. A troubling trend.”

The Detective’s eyes were luminous in the candlelight. “Don’t look at me for that one, buster. Dan’s the allergic one. Literally.”

“Of course he is.”

Lux stretched onto her side, inviting longer caresses the Detective seemed only too happy to provide. She had beautiful hands, slender and so strong, a revelation of velvet-covered steel from wrist to fingertip. A smudge of ink stained the skin of her third finger.

“Lucifer?”

He blinked and tore his gaze away from her hand. “Pardon me?” 

One eyebrow rose, a hint, a dare. “I said, she’s really very affectionate, once you get to know her, isn’t she?”

He swelled, just a trifle, with pride.

“And if all the disemboweled toys are any indication, she must be a fierce protector.”

“Every disemboweling was deserved, I assure you.”

“It’s good to know you have someone like her watching your back.”

“Jealous, Detective?”

She laughed gently, with no hint of mockery. Lifting the hand that had been employed in petting his cat, she settled her fingertips lightly on his forearm. “Nah, we’re on the same team. You’re a full-time job. She sends detailed reports.”

He lifted an eyebrow and leaned just a little closer. “You do love your reports.”

Moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue she said, “Damn right I do.”

Lux uncurled from the Detective’s side and shot him a look he could only describe as smug. With a little chirrup that clearly said _you are boring me_ , she jumped down from the sofa and wove her way toward the kitchen, fluffy tail held high. The Detective’s lovely hand still rested on his forearm; her lips remained slightly parted, like she had a secret she wanted to whisper into his ear.

And because there was nothing in the universe he wanted more than hearing whatever it was she cared to tell him, he leaned a little closer.

“You may interrogate me at any hour of the day or night that suits you, Detective; no need to disturb the cat.”

The near-silent hitch of her breath as it caught in her throat and the slight pressure of her fingers tightening on his arm distracted him just enough that he nearly missed the way she murmured, “Oh, shut up,” on an exhale before bringing that impossible, perfect, delectable mouth to meet his.

As secrets went, it was a good one. 

His matchmaker cat was getting filet mignon tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I made a tumblr post likening Lucifer's personality to a cat's. And then I thought, I would like to see Lucifer interact with a cat; I will write a ficlet! And then this happened :)


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